


Sherlock's Regret

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock hates himself, im not very good at this but i tried, im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherly Locks.  **JM**

I saw your fall.  **JM**

It was beautiful ;)  **JM**

**  
**You're dead. **SH**

 

Hey now, let's not jump to conclusions.  **JM**

 

There was no jumping involved. I saw you kill yourself. Go away.  **SH**

 

You saw wrong, my dear Sherly Locks.  **JM**

It's so easy to fake ones death.  **JM**

After all  **JM**

You should know.  **JM**

 

This isn't amusing.  **SH**

 

How could you just leave him like that?  **JM**

 

Stop it.  **SH**

 

All alone.  **JM**

With nobody to turn to.  **JM**

 

Jim.  **SH**

 

He needed you there and you just let him rot.  **JM**

How is he?  **JM**

 

Stop this.  **SH**

Right now.  **SH**

 

How is your little pet, Sherly Locks?  **JM**

 

Jim, please.  **SH**

 

Tell me.  **JM**

 

No.  **SH**

 

Tell. Me.  **JM**

Or I may have to call my 'special friends' to take care of yours.  **JM**

 

Fine.  **SH**

 

I'm waiting.  **JM**

 

He's dead.  **SH**

 

Just wanted to make sure you realized that's not my fault.  **JM**

 

I know.  **SH**


	2. Sherlock's Regret Cont.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm awful and I hate myself. Sorry for any lack of talent.

                Sherlock tossed the mobile aside on the couch and rubbed a weary hand over his tired face; a rare show of emotion when there was company in the flat. He never moved after John died, he didn’t want to leave Mrs. Hudson all alone.

                “Who was that you were talking to?” Greg asked, looking up from the stack of papers spread out on the coffee table before them.

                “No one important right now.” He brushed the look Lestrade gave him and started to take out papers he could pin on the web above the mantle. “Do we have anything new yet?”

                “Not that I know of but they’re still looking. This Moriarty fellow is a tricky bastard.” He slapped a folder on the desk and Sherlock went reeling back into thoughts. It was things he didn’t appreciate having around in his mind but he couldn’t stop it, it was like an automatic response.

_ _ _

                _It was back two months earlier; Three months after ‘The Fall’ as it was so popularly referred to in the papers and magazines and whatnot. Sherlock wasn’t actually dead, but the thing was, John didn’t know. The whole world was oblivious to the fact that Sherlock Holmes even still existed. He was at the flat, well… the door that led to the stairs that led to the flat anyways. He was hesitant about what might happen. With it being John, he couldn’t quite tell what the outcome would be._

_A loud yet slightly muffled crack tore through the door and Sherlock ducked, thinking a gun had been shot at him for a moment before realizing it had come from the flat. If his already white skin could somehow become even more so pale, then it would have.  He gripped the door handle and pushed it open, not even stopping to explain how he was there instead of buried in the ground to a shocked Mrs. Hudson, while he pushed his way up the stairs quickly. When he tried twisting the door knob, it stayed put, making his gloved hand slide uselessly over the metal. He grunted, groping at his pockets until he found a key and jammed it in the lock, not bothering to take it out in his haste toward the smell of gun powder._

_ _ _

 

                “Sherlock. . . Sherlock!” He flickered his eyes over to Greg standing next to him.

                “Hm?”

                “We’ve got something.” Lestrade smiled and Sherlock felt his shoulders stiffen.

                “What is it?”

                “I got a call saying there’s a group of ‘em meeting up tonight. Some pub called ‘The Luck Horseshoe’. Are you coming or no?”

                “Funny, I was about to ask you the same.” Sherlock spoke with a dull tone as he Picked up his jacket and scarf putting both on as Lestrade followed behind him.

                “So who d’you think it was?” Greg asked as they slid into the cabs back seat. The feeling was too familiar for comfort.

                “It was the girlfriend obviously. A woman with a taste for high-priced merchandise, her nails are neatly polished and trimmed which shows how often she has them done professionally, her home is very neat and orderly but seeing as she works most of the day which leaves her no time to clean; which tells me she either rarely uses her home or has someone cleaning it for her. I myself think it is the latter based on the comfort-ability she had walking around. Murder weapon was the copper vase she had holding those flowers you love so much by the front door; if you look closely there will be small dents along the bottom ridges showing where the vase had made contact with the man’s head.  She paid George to hide the body and to keep his mouth shut. The cause of murder was for the will. Recently Richard had added Rebecca to his will after much persuasion from said woman. Now Richard didn’t have a well paying job but his grandfather had left all of his life saving to Richard, almost half of a million, and Rebecca is what you would call a ‘gold digger’ in laymen’s terms. Would you like me to keep going or no?” He looked to Greg who was trying to write down everything in his pocketbook so he would have the information later.

                “No, I’m good.”

_ _ _

                _Sherlock didn’t have a key for John’s room. He’d attempted many times to duplicate it but John always kept the key close to his person. Sherlock cursed himself for not doing so as he started kicking the door in as hard as he could, leaving at first one dirty shoe print on the white door, then two, then the wood cracked, and with a fourth kick, the door swung open, slamming into the wall with a resonation bang that shook even the floors._

_ _ _

“George McHearison, Rudy Fausburn, and Amy Michaels; The three of them are meeting here in about a half an hour. They all met up at some point at the day of Richard’s disappearance. All we need is to get them and bring them in for questioning. We’re still missing the body even though we have a motive.” Greg had the cab pull over a block early so they could walk and blend in with pedestrians. “Don’t make a move until there’s back up.”

 “Yes, Lestrade, I’m not an idiot.” Greg grabbed his arm and made him stop. “What?”

“Stay safe.”

“I will.”

_ _ _

                _“Sherlock, oh my god, is that really you?” Mrs. Hudson’s voice trembled as Sherlock stepped in the room._

_“Oh god, **no**. John. . .”_

_ _ _

                “Lets go.” Lestrade stood from the table they were at and strode over toward George and the other two.”Evening gentlemen, madam, can we ask a few questions?” He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open, showing his badge.

                George immediately reacted, eyed widening in surprise and anger. He stood up, pushing aside a waitress and running off.  Rudy picked up his glass and threw it at Sherlock. He nearly dodged it and ran after Rudy, almost tripping on a chair. They went out the back door while George and Greg went out front and Amy just sat in shock at the mess.

_ _ _

                _“Oh my god! Oh god, **John**! What did he do!?” Mrs. Hudson screamed as she tried to pass Sherlock but he grabbed her arm, dragging her away and setting her on the couch. He handed her his mobile._

_“Call for help.”_

_“But-“_

_“Just make a call!” Sherlock yelled as he ran back to the bedroom. “Please, oh god, please don’t.” He rounded the bed and saw it. A choked, pitiful noise made its way out. He didn’t even feel it until he understood the noise was him. His step faltered, knee bending, and he caught himself on the bed.”John. . .” His voice cracked and trailed off into a sob as he buried his face into his hands._

_John was dead. **Dead. He could have been here seconds earlier and John would still be alive.** He could have saved John. _

_ _ _

                The officers caught George and Rudy easily, Amy went along as well, willingly. She knew nothing about any of this and was very confused. Greg found him afterwards before he left.

                “You did good.”

                “Sure.”

                “Hey! Mr. Holmes!” The pub manager came out running as them and waving her hand about.

                “Yes?”

                “This was left for you.” She held out the hand and gave him a piece of paper.

_I’m sorry about your pet. **JM**_

                Sherlock crumpled the note in his hand and shoved it in his pocket.

                “What’d it say?”

                “Nothing important right now.” Sherlock turned around and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not as good at this writing thing as I wish I was but I tried. I'm sorry if you didn't like it


End file.
